


Death, be not proud

by lanyon



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-25
Updated: 2010-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-14 02:48:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/144522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanyon/pseuds/lanyon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Christian finds himself before the Iron Queen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death, be not proud

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Whisperslip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whisperslip/gifts).



Come to me, little Christian. Yes, this is heaven. Yes, this is hell. You did not think the Underworld was a fable now, did you? Cross yourself all you like, you will find no holy water here. You will find Acheron and Lethe and Styx and Cocytus. You may drink your fill if you do not drown.

Beg all you like. It will do no good. I am not known for my mercy and neither is my husband. He stole me, did you know? I was a goddess at play under the watchful eye of Helios and then the black earth swallowed me as my intended swept me away.

I do not care that you were faithful to your wife. Aphrodite would laugh at you for claiming such a thing as a virtue. I congratulate your wife for giving you no reason to stray. Or did you stray? Is that why you are so vehement?

My husband tried to take a lover or two; nymphs with white skin and green eyes. He has a type, that husband of mine. Leuce was before my time but her poplar no longer stands. I had Acheron flood his banks and poison her roots. Minthe. She was so pretty and conniving. Fresh-faced and aromatic; I enjoyed grinding her beneath the heel of my boot. My husband was lucky not to feel the heel of my boot. My husband did not know what he was stealing when he brought me here. He stole a maiden (only slightly spoiled) and he fashioned a queen.

I lied. Goddesses are not known for their honesty. Do not look so surprised. My father was the finest trickster ever born of a Titan, a charming trait he has passed on some of his sons and not a few of his daughters. You may see Hermes here. Do check your pockets on the way through. My half-brother has sticky fingers.

I lied. I am sometimes merciful. Was I not merciful to Adonis, my beautiful boy? Aphrodite, foolish creature, believed I had no heart, that I might be immune to beauty and charm made flesh. I do have a heart, Christian, despite the faithlessness of the Goddess of Love.

She sent Psyche to me, too. Psyche is beautiful, all wide-eyed and earnest. The image of Aphrodite, some say. I think Psyche is far more beautiful, being mostly mortal and untempered by power. I might have taken Psyche as a consort, along with Adonis, save that she was enraptured by Aphrodite’s feckless godling son. I never can resist a chance to ruffle Aphrodite’s feathers, you understand.

You do not believe that I, too, can be a champion of true love? You do not believe that I love my husband? Oh, but I do. This is not one of Aphrodite’s fleeting fancies. I love Hades, insofar as an iron queen can love. I love Adonis. I love my rivers and my dog and I even love Charon, decrepit and cantankerous though he is.

I promise you, Christian: this sacred, iron heart can warm to the touch.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Ruth.


End file.
